Answers

The Max Tavern, back when it was open, especially in 1989;
Delilah's--best when I dj'd there, sometimes with Blackie Onassis,
sometimes without; Tuman's when we go with a Critical Mass crew,
laughin after a good bike ride, drinking Weiss bier and shots of Jim
Beam, and listening to Patti Smith sing "Gloria"; Sak's Ukrainian
Village when the Ukrainian girls who live above the flowershop are
there--blonde, icily pretty, aloof, silly--or when I just want to talk
with Roman and drink among the quiet old Ukrainian men; The Double
Door when there is a great band and Sean is there (so I drink for
free, as he owns it.

Desperados, The Cellar Door, The Tombs, Mr. Smith's (way back when),
The 21st Amendment (the bartender made a drink called the slyvester),
M&S, Clydes, Pat & Mikes, Fedoras's......and the evening and the
morning were the first day.

Sign of the Whale, Bachelors II, (burned to the ground in a
spectacular fire), Union Street, The Foggy Dogg, Spanky's, The Fox
Chase Tavern......and the evening and the morning were the second day.

The Fore 'n Aft, also out of business but an awesome rock and roll
bar back in the day.

The Lakeside Lounge - great jukebox, good bands, photo booth, cheap
drinks. One of my favorites, except on the weekends when it is much
too crowded.

Manitoba's - right around the corner from my apartment and a
gathering place for East Village musicians. I know the owners, so I
usually get my drinks for free. They have a really ugly sign out
front though.

Gramercy Hotel Bar - I love hotel bars, and this one is properly dark
and seedy.

The bar at the Four Seasons Hotel - They make a fabulous martini, and
you can always spot a celebrity or two, but the clientele can be
rather tiresome.

Marie Chiaro (I have no idea if that is the correct spelling). A
Goodfella's bar in Little Italy. They once kicked me out for playing
cards on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Sarah!
re: Manitoba and its proximity to you. If you've lived there a while,
we must've been neighbors. Now I live almost 3 whole blocks away, but
I still go over to Avenue B often - to Lakeside Lounge, during the
week, to get my Ms Pacman fix and to Ace Bar to luxuriate in its
spaciousness.
Also, a friend recently introduced me to The Edge to feed my new
obsession with darts.

I'm not much of a barfly and less so as I get older, but I have fond
memories of The 880 Club, a jazz/blues joint in a working class
Italian neighborhood in Hartford, Conn. We used to go to hear Matt
Emirzian and His Saturday Night Special, a bebop quintet. Matt E. was
this very tall balding guy who played the vibes and drank shots of
ouzo or something between sets until he was lit up like a downtown
Christmas tree. His vivacious playing and good cheer were infectious.
I used to call up my friends and say "Wanna go hear baldy play the
vibes?"

In Hartford, CT, the only bar I remember fondly is the Russian Lady (renamed the Lithuanian
Lady shortly after Lithuania seceded from the USSR, but re-renamed the Russian Lady
sometime afterward). The Russian Lady's sole positive feature was that they made the best
damn Long Island Iced Teas in the free world, in 22-oz hurricane glasses. You did not drive to
this bar.

In Ithaca, NY, circa 1988, I encountered my first brewpub, the Chapterhouse. Beer-wise, it was
revolutionary to me. Part of my decision to move to Seattle was based on the fact that in
Seattle, they had lots of brewpubs.

In Seattle, crikey -- where to start? Hale's, Pyramid, Dad Watson's, the Six Arms, the Big Time,
the list goes on and on: pubs that make their own delicious, wonderful beer. You can barely
throw a rock in this town without hitting one, and I don't believe I've ever been to one that didn't
have at least a fair approximation of nectar of the gods on tap.

The best weekend in Seattle is the first weekend of October, when the Festering Octoberskoot
scooter rally happens. Some sixty people on maybe forty vintage scooters spend the
weekend riding from brewpub to brewpub, sampling a pint or two at each destination and then
moving on.

Chris's, on Samson in Philly. Best jazz I've ever, ever heard. Best
atmosphere, even when I set my hair on fire trying to lean across the
table to kiss my guy ... but I guess Chris's is more of a restaurant
than a bar, really. The filet mignon was to die for ...

Here in the Tempe/Phoenix area, it's either Warsaw Wally's [25th and
Indian School] the Dubliner [Thunderbird, I think], Bandersnatch
[Mill and 5th, I think -- can you tell I don't do the driving?] or
Murphy's. Keltic Cowboys played Murphy's and the Dubliner a lot ...
god, I miss them.

In Scottsdale, where I am now, it's gotta be Brokers [surprise,
surprise].

We've got a Dubliner here, as well; I used to meet people there every Wednesday night.
We'd drink Guinness and order nachos (extra cheese), cheese fries (extra cheese), and toasted
cheese-and-spices sandwiches.

One day, the waitress (who I had a crush on for a year) delivered our food and started laughing.
When we badgered her into telling us why, she said, "well, it's just that in the kitchen, this table is
known as "The Cholesterol Family Robinson."

Hey, William R., thanks for jogging my memory about the Russky Lady.
For a year, in the late '80s, I worked at a small newspaper right
next door to that place, and we used to go there sometimes after
work. That is still one of the best jobs I ever had and the people
were great. So I remember the Lady fondly, because of the good times
I had there with people I liked, not cuz it was such a great place.

In San Francisco: the Travel Lounge in the 80's, a lowlife bar with a great bartender named Murph and a jukebox full of great 45s. Honorable mention to the
dependably kitschy Tonga Room in the Fairmont Hotel. Many a night I've longed to soak my head under the faux waterfall after too many umbrella drinks.

In New York: the Algonquin, and the excellent microbrewery in Park Slope (I can't remember the name, which is pretty sad since I've been there several times).

In London: the Fox and Grapes in Southwark looking across at St. Paul's.

The best dive bar on Earth is Dirty Frank's, in Philly. I have
friends from Frank's who've been to Hogs and Heiffers and Coyote
Ugly, and they say it's kinda like Franks, but not as authentic. It's
as if they use imported dirt and pre-stressed building materials. You
know, walls with machine-punched holes, and bar rails with router-
drilled names etched in.

For decades, it's been home to downtown artists, writers, actors,
bikers, musicians, and barflies. Where else can you sit in a booth
with an art teacher, a lawyer, a motorcycle mechanic, and an
underemployed couch-surfer, and discuss the relative merits of
various rockabilly artists?

There's a pretty low celebrity coefficient at Frank's, but I've heard
that Jack Nicholson has mentioned the place favorably, and I know for
a fact that Bob Dylan was once flagged by our lovely bartenders.
There have probably been plenty of celebrity visits over the years,
but nobody notices or even gives a shit.

The Ram's Head Tavern, Annapolis Maryland. I used to tend bar there
while I was in college. Unfortunately, it succumbed to the tourist
trade (like most of the town), and is now just another faux
micro-brewery preppie fern bar. Even the middies aren't sissy enough
to go near the place.

New Haven.
The Anchor (especially with the lovely, husky-voiced Dolores as your
waitress) and Kavanaugh's and it's dreary wood panelling and the
Shining playing on the TV above the bar. Fond memories of bloody mary
breakfasts (steak and eggs as a side).

Hanoi.
Apocalypse Now. Yup, you heard right. Full of 14-year old prostitutes
and icky old men. Kind of a wanna-be institution. The dj booth was
the cockpit of an old helicopter.

Count me as another sucker for hotel bars. I spent way too much of my youth at the Tonga Room, and have fond memories of the Venetian Room, also at the Fairmont in San Francisco. That was a nightclub like the kind in a Fred and Ginger movie. The view bar in the Marriott hotel near Fifth and Mission is also quite lovely in a Gotham City sort of way.
In New York, where I live now, I must admit that I am underwhelmed by the Algonquin; I love its history, but the bad service is not amusing, it's just bad. The Royalton across the street is beautiful, peaceful, and well lighted, and has a good menu as well. But my most beloved hotel bar is the Bemmelman's Bar at the Carlyle Hotel on the Upper East Side. Murals by the creator of Madeline, homemade potato chips, and the most fabulous nut cups in the city. It is the kind of place a woman can go alone and feel just fine, and there are always some interesting eccentrics to watch.
I would be remiss to leave out the Saloon at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Station. Besides the reasonably good seafood, they serve excellent cheap martinis, and the smoky, wood-paneled atmosphere makes me feel as though I am in a John Cheever story.